come in half an hour earlier?’ When Lydia’s frown remained he addressed her as one would a bemused three-year-old. ‘Your morning sickness—you said it hits you within half an hour of setting foot in a hospital. If you come in early, you can spend a bit of time acclimatising.’
‘Oh!’ Lydia blinked a couple of times, the solution so simple she couldn’t believe she hadn’t already thought of it.
‘And you’ll have more of the evening to put your feet up and relax.’
‘Better and better.’ Lydia smiled.
‘And I’m sure your husband will be pleased to see a bit more of you.’
She couldn’t be sure, the light on his overhead desk didn’t allow for an absolute inspection, but for a fleeting second Lydia swore his cheeks darkened.
‘There’s no husband.’ As Lydia swallowed nervously, Corey filled the uncomfortable silence.
‘Boyfriend, then.’
‘No boyfriend either.’ Another nervous swallow and when her voice came it was strangely high. ‘When I say no husband, what I meant was—’
Corey put his hand up. ‘You really don’t need to explain. I mean, I just assumed you had…’
Lydia looked down at her bump, which seemed to be growing like Pinocchio’s nose before her eyes, determined to make her feel as fat and as sexless as it was possible to feel, but dragging her eyes up, meeting Corey’s full on, her bump seemed to fade into insignificance, the cocktail of hormones fizzing through her bloodstream at that very second definitely not maternal. ‘It’s a natural assumption,’ Lydia said softly. ‘So natural, in fact, that I was naı¨ve enough to think it myself. We just got divorced.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Corey started, but it was Lydia putting her hand up now.
‘Don’t be.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘At least, not on my account. I’m saving all the sympathy for this little one.’
Putting a hand up to her stomach, Lydia felt the soft swell of her child beneath and for an awful moment she felt the appalling sting of tears on her lashes, struggled with a bottom lip that seemed to be involuntarily wobbling, before forcing a very brittle, very false smile. ‘’Night, then.’
‘’Night.’ Either he didn’t notice or politely ignored the slight tremor in her voice. Clicking on his pen, he turned to his notes as Lydia scurried through the unit, blinking back tears as she watched the two-by-two world of the neonatal unit, the mothers and fathers hovering by the cots, staring at the fragile miracles they had created, loving each other, leaning on each other. Not for the first time, Lydia wondered how on earth she could do this on her own.
As if on autopilot she washed her hands, made her way to the only incubator that didn’t have a parent beside it, stared at the little scrap of life who really knew what loneliness meant for a moment, before slowly putting her hand in and gently soothing the restless, furrowed brow.
‘What have I got to complain about, Patrick?’ Lydia said gently, smiling softly as he relaxed under her touch. ‘What have I got to complain about?’
LYDIA hated shopping.
Correction. Lydia loved shopping, adored trying on clothes, slipping her feet into strappy little sandals and pondering her purchase over a well-earned caffe latte.
She merely hated food shopping.
Still, it beat walking into an empty house…Leaning on a trolley that had a mind of its own, Lydia wandered aimlessly along the aisles, staring in utter bemusement at the rows upon rows of nappies and trying to fathom why it had to be so dammed complicated. Some were in kilos, some were in age, some spoke about softer outer, and stay-dry inners with tiny little teddies that faded when the nappy needed changing. Not for the first time, Lydia felt a surge of panic well inside her.
What on earth was she doing?
How on earth was she supposed to cope with a living, breathing, crying, demanding baby of her very own when she couldn’t even decide what type of nappies to purchase? Sure, she dealt with babies every day, handled the most fragile infant with skill and confidence, made life-and-death decisions in the blink of an eye, but, and here was the big one…
At the end of the day she went home!
Picking up speed, she drifted out of the baby aisle, pushing aside her intention to make one purchase a week for the baby. Why change the habits of a lifetime? She always did her Christmas shopping at the last minute and undoubtedly the baby gear would be dealt with in the same vein.
It would all get done in the end.
Humming abstractedly to the piped music, Lydia filled her trolley with a stash of meals for one, before turning into the soft-drink aisle, her lethargic spirits lifting as with a jolt she saw Corey Hughes—or at the least the back of him.
It was becoming a rather familiar response these days. They’d been working alongside each other for a week now and even though the atmosphere between them was still strained, to say the least, even though Lydia thought him a rather arrogant know-all, her body simply refused to listen, insisting upon darkening her face with a blush and sending her heart rate into overdrive every time she glimpsed him!
Disappointingly, though, one arm was rather protectively around an incredibly tiny, incredibly pretty woman, while with the other he struggled to contain the most appallingly behaved child in the history of the world.
For a second Lydia considered making a hasty U-turn, darting back to the relative safety of the nappy section, but the thought of Corey catching her making a rapid retreat, of seeing the effect he was having on her, was enough incentive to beat back her blush. She sauntered in what she hoped was a casual way along the aisle, pretending to concentrate on the soft drinks, practising a casual hello and smile in her head as she worked her way nearer, then realising as she edged closer that she needn’t have bothered.
Corey was so engrossed in cartons of orange juice that, had she stripped off and congad naked behind her shopping trolley, she doubted he’d have even looked up. Instead of disciplining his appalling child, instead of forcing the squealing, tantrum-throwing toddler back into its stroller, his deep loud voice droned on and on about the merits of home brands as opposed to named ones, to check for any special offers and, of course, to always look at the contents. It might look like a bargain but if there were only four hundred mls in the container…
It was at that point that Lydia questioned the merits of first impressions.
That sexy, rugged, good-looking guy evaporated there and then. To see him at his domestic worst truly pulled the wool from Lydia’s eyes and she was eternally grateful for it.
She hated meanness in men, hated it more than anything in the world, well, except for adultery, but that wasn’t the issue here. She could just imagine him in the loo-roll section—he’d probably whip out a calculator and work out the sheets per roll and the benefits of two- as opposed to four-ply.
‘Lydia!’
Truly caught, she had no choice but to smile, but due to her sudden insight there was no trace of awkwardness. ‘So you’re a late-night shopping addict, too.’
‘Absolutely.’ Corey smiled warmly. ‘Fewer people…’
‘More chance of spotting a bargain.’ Lydia muttered. Glancing down at her own trolley, she realised how empty her statement sounded. For all her determination, for all her self-conditioning and occasional attempts, somehow cooking chicken massala from scratch seemed so dammed complicated and, perhaps more to the point, when flour and coconut milk weren’t staples of your larder, so damned expensive.
She was saving money really!
Still for tight gits like Corey, her trolley probably